The Borderline to Hell
by Emotive Gothika
Summary: At the borderline to hell, Orochimaru meets up with some familiar people. CRACK! R.I.P. King of Pop!


**A/N: Yeah, so, being the pedo-hater that I am, I just **_**had **_**to write this down the minute it exploded in my mind. DARN YOU PLOT BUNNIES!!!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any anime, manga, games, cartoons, and everything else that is featured in this wonderful, wonderful site. And also, this piece of fanfiction (note **_**fiction**_**) was **_**not**_** made to offend any MJ fans out there. It was made **_**purely**_** for laughs and because this was a challenge for me to write.**

**Warning: Cussing, major OOCness and King of Pop bashing.**

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This line is so fucking long..._

Orochimaru (last name unknown) stood in a miles-long line of dead souls that extended towards the horizon. In this world, the sky was inked a blood red and had pitch-black clouds lazily floating by. The missing-nin slash crazed pedophile (he would deny that last part) vaguely compared the borderline to hell with the dimension of the Mangekyou Sharingan, which he has experienced first-hand when he had fought against a certain Uchiha Itachi.

_So... fucking... long..._

He had been in that line for what seemed liked hours, though back in the realm of the living, he had been dead for about a year now, maybe two, and in the Narutoverse, he had been dead for a couple months (more or less). He was wearing a white kimono (the _man_ kimono thank you very much!) just like the rest of the dead souls who were lined up, waiting to be condemned to eternal suffering.

He was in the line that led straight to hell after all.

He couldn't run away of course. He was a just a dead soul now, powerless like an ant fighting the largest elephant in the whole universe (which universe though, he dared not think about). And as a bonus, shinigami were everywhere, watching the the line with nonexistent eyes, floating around like sentinals in their dark, hooded cloaks and scythes in their hands...

Wait, these shinigami strangely look like those Grim Reapers in Western lore...

No! No! Don't think about that universe! That will lead to his...!

Oh right, he's already dead.

_I just had to go after the Uchihas,_ Orochimaru scolded himself. _I just had to go all pedophile on them and say that their bodies are perfect! Wait, did I just call myself a pedophile? No! I am not a pedophile!_

Orochimaru mentally slapped himself. Ow, it mentally hurt.

Ah, if only his subordinates (Kabuto, sort of Sasuke), former allies (Tsunade, Jiraiya, Hiruzen, etc.), and everyone else that knew him could see him now. Their jaws would definitely drop at the sight of _the _snake-bastard acting... n... n.... _normal_.

He shudders. Oh the irony.

Finally, the line moves forward... one step. _At least it's moving,_ the pasty-skinned sannin thought with a scowl. He looked to his left and watched the bloody River Styx quietly flow down the riverbed. Occasionally, a human skeleton or two would reach the surface and splash around like a salmon swimming upstream. It would disappear a second later though and it was nearly impossible to pinpoint if the next skeleton that would appear was the same as the last.

By the way, does Japanese lore have a River Styx? Wasn't that only in Greek mythology...?

No! Don't think about that universe! It will only make him think about...

Suddenly, there was a _crunch crunch_ sound, as if someone wearing shoes was walking around the desolate land that was the borderline to hell. Orochimaru looked down at his pasty white and seriously-needing-a-toenail-trimming feet.

Nope, no shoes. He wasn't even walking around either. He was staying still in his place (when the line wasn't moving of course).

Amber eyes then strayed to the other feet in the line.

Again, no shoes. They were in a fucking line for Kami's sake!

Narrow, snake-like, golden/amber/yellow eyes then looked up at the floating, sentinel-like shinigami who were probably kin to the Grim Reaper.

Nope, no shoes either. They can float, so why wear shoes anyway?

So, who was this mysterious person/being/thing that was wearing shoes in the borderline to hell? Orochimaru decided to turn around and find out.

That turned out to be a HUGE mistake.

"Oro-chaaaaaaannnnn!!!!!"

Orochimaru then found himself being glomped by a man wearing a red, sequin-adorned jacket, tight black pants with sparkly, sequin-adorned shin guards, black boots, and white sequin-adorned gloves (with all those sequins, just call him the second Elvis Presley!). Greasy jet-black hair fell into Orochimaru's face and tickled pasty white skin in a not-so-comfortable way. The hebi-teme could also _smell_ the scent of little boys on this man's clothes and skin.

Oh no. No no no no no! It can't be! It isn't! It's not...!

"Remember me? It's Michael! Michael Jackson!" said the man as he jumped off of the hebi and faced him.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Orochimaru's distraught mental chibi self fell into a pit of everlasting despair while his true face just stared... and stared... and stared...

Oh my Kami... is a piece of his nose falling off again? Ugh... his skin was so white and pasty! Wasn't he supposed to be an African-American? Oh, where did Oro go wrong?! WHERE?!

"Why in fucking hell are you here?" Orochimaru growled at his clone.

"Well... to be frank... I died..." said Michael with a shrug, running a hand through his greasy hair.

Like, ew.

"Figures, when the original dies, so do the clones," Orochimaru mumbled to himself, turning to face forward.

"I died of cardiac arrest," said Michael, looking like he didn't mind that he was dead. "How about you?"

"The boy whose body I wanted killed me," Orochimaru said at once without thinking.

There was a silence, which wasn't exactly awkward, then Michael burst out laughing.

"Oh, so that's how it is eh?" Michael taunted, nudging the ninja in the ribs and wiggling his eyebrows.

"It wasn't like that," Orochimaru said through his teeth, but Michael just shrugged.

"Sure it wasn't," said the deceased pop star, obviously being sarcastic.

Orochimaru just glared at his clone.

"What are you doing here, in this universe?" Orochimaru asked again, indicating the environment around them. "Aren't you supposed to be in _your_ world's afterlife?"

Michael shrugged. "I dunno why I'm here," he said, placing his hands behind his head, as if he was bored. "When I came to, I was here. Then I saw how long the line was and thought that, being famous and all, I could cut in line. Then I saw you, I glomped you, and now we're having this conversation."

The sannin's eye visibly twitched.

"Go back to your own world!" he growled, glaring daggers into the pop star. "You are a failed experiment and have no right to be standing before me!"

Michael winced. "Sheesh, no need to be so harsh," he said, peering at Orochimaru over his sunglasses (did I forget to mention that he was wearing these huge aviator shades?). "But how can I leave when I don't even know how I got here in the first place... besides dying of course."

Orochimaru, having no answer for that, just turned away, taking a step forward as the line advanced again. Michael chuckled at this and chose not to follow that up with anything.

A couple seconds later...

"I'm bored!" Michael cried.

"Shut the fuck up!" Orochimaru hissed like the snake he was. He was also surprised that none of the other dead souls (nor the shinigami for that matter) were paying absolutely no attention to Michael.

Well, he wasn't really of this universe anyway.

"But I'm bored," Michale whined.

"Then dance in place," Orochimaru suggested. Anything to shut the King of Pop up.

Shrugging, Michael began to quietly sing "Thriller" to himself and also danced the steps to his iconic song. Orochimaru couldn't stop his eye from twitching as Michael danced like a zombie and even grabbed his own crotch a couple of times.

Crotch grabbing. That's what his clone invents. How fitting.

When Michael finished his singing, he saw that the line had advanced a couple steps and he moonwalked his way to where Orochimaru was standing.

"So what now?" he asked the hebi.

Kami, he was acting like a child!

"Don't ask me as if I know!" said Orochimaru.

Silence. Then, "What are you doing anyway?" came the question.

"Waiting for my eternal suffering," Orochimaru said with a slightly heavy heart.

Only _slightly_ was his heart heavy. After all, he's a bastard who betrayed his country and friends and experimented on people (and not to mention himself) like they (and he) were just little lab rats. He practically has no heart, considering the path he walked down.

He's also a megalomaniac. Kind of like a certain King of Pop ne?

"So, this line is going straight to hell?" asked Michael.

Orochimaru did not answer for his silence was all Michael needed.

"Holy shit!! What did I do to deserve a first-class ticket to hell?!?!?!" Michael cried, fisting his greasy black hair in his hands.

"Hm, lemme see," said Orochimaru, putting a finger to his chin in mock thinking. "Maybe it was because you molested children in your own narcissist theme park which just so happened to be named after a place where children never grow up!"

Michael hung his head, crying all chibi-like. The hebi-teme smirked, finally feeling a little entertained after hours of standing in line.

Suddenly, sinister laughter rung in the air. It sounded quite like Orochimaru's, but at the same time, not quite like the hebi-teme's. The sannin and pop star looked around, searching for the source of the laughter (apparently, the other dead souls and shinigami were still very oblivious to them). Then, there was a loud _crack!_ and a tall, white figure draped in a billowing black cloak (note, there was a lack of wind in the area) appeared before Orochimaru and Michael. Crimson eyes with vertical slits for pupils peeked out from beneath the folds of the hood and a hissing laugh escaped the figure's lips.

"Well well well, if it isn't my doppelganger," said the figure.

If Orochimaru could pale, he would, but he didn't because he was white enough already. He should've eaten more vitamins when he was alive.

"V-Voldemort," Orochimaru said, golden eyes going wide. Lord Voldemort only chuckled, though it sounded more like a hiss.

"Orochimaru," said the Dark Wizard, acknowledging the sannin's dead existence.

Michael looked from the hebi-teme, to the Dark Wizard, and back, confusion on his pasty white face.

"You guys know each other?" he asked, wondering how that could _ever_ happen when they all lived in different universes.

"This pitiful excuse of a being is my, how you Muggles say, clone," said the Dark Lord, lifting a spidery hand and gesturing at the dead man.

A thought bubble appeared over Michael's head. Here was what he thought;

_Voldemort is a snake._

_Orochimaru, Voldemort's clone, is also a snake._

_Orochimaru is a pedophile (don't deny it hebi-teme!)._

_Michael Jackson, Orochimaru's clone, is a child molester (a.k.a. pedophile)._

_They were all also very white and pasty skinned._

Yeah, that sounds just about right.

"I get it," Michael said with a nod as his thought bubble disappeared. It made perfect sense as to why he was a pedophile and Orochimaru was a snake and why they were so very white (when Michael _clearly_ was an African-American). "So how did you die?"

Crimson eyes narrowed at him and Michael "eep-ed", quickly hiding behind the hebi-teme who glared at him.

"It seemed that I was outsmarted by that damn Harry Potter," Voldemort said through clenched teeth. It was obviously very painful for him to admit it, let alone say it out loud.

"When the original dies, so do the clones," Michael said, repeating Orochimaru's words, and he got a glare from both hebis as a reward.

"So, we're all going to hell," Orochimaru said, returning to facing front as the line moved forward once again.

"Yes, yes we are," said Voldemort and Michael quickly stood in the line behind Orochimaru. "But not this hell." The clones looked at him with wide eyes. "I have briefly obtained my ability to apparate just so that I can fetch the two of you. So now, we must go before my time limit is up."

Before either Orochimaru or Michael could protest, Voldemort grabbed the both of them and turned on the spot, disapparating and apparating into a place that was similar to the borderline to hell in the hebi's universe. But this borderline was more like a desert with a bright yellow sun shining overhead in a blue sky, and instead of a flowing river, there was a dried up riverbed to the left with both fish and human skeletons resting on the cracked, dry ground.

"Where the hell are we?" Orochimaru asked.

"We are on the borderline to hell," said Voldemort, black cloak still billowing even though there was absolutely no wind whatsoever. "That is to say, the Hell for Fictional Villains."

Both Orochimaru and Michael looked around and saw another long line of dead souls. They were also surprised to see that every known villain in fiction history was there; from books, games, tv shows, anime, manga, and more. There was Darth Vader of Star Wars (how long has he been waiting to get into hell?), Megatron of Transformers, Chuckie the killer doll, Lex Luthor from Superman (he died?!), Aizen of Bleach and his precious Espada (they're shinigami and hollow, so technically, they're already dead), Light Yagami of Death Note ("I tried to make a better world for Kami's sake! Why the hell am I going to hell?!"), and many, many, _many_ more.

"Well, get in line you waste of space," said Voldemort, cutting in front of the Wicked Witch of the West who just scowled at him.

Orochimaru didn't need to be told twice as he cut in front of Sephiroth, who immediately began gloating about his perfectly kept long, shiny, silvery hair.

Michael just stood in his spot for a moment before he remembered a _very_ crucial fact.

"But I'm not fictional!" he cried.

At once, everyone in line said, "That's what we thought too."

Michael just hung his head and cried all chibi-like again.

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A/N: Love it? Hate it? Think I should get shot for having written down what I thought of in my crazy excuse for a mind? Tell me your opinions by clicking the review button down there. No flames please, constructive criticisms will do. And again, this was **_**not**_**to offend any Michael Jackson fans! (may he rest in piece... in his own pedo heaven... or hell... or wherever the hell he's going to be in the afterlife) This was **_**just for laughs!**_** Also, I know that Michael has that skin disease which turned him white, so there's no need to inform me about that. Me leaving that fact out was just for the sake of this fanfic.**

**Thank you for wasting your time in reading this fic!**


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